


I Have Died Everyday Waiting For You

by TargaryenHeaven



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Jon Kills the Night King, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon doesn't kill Daenerys, Jon finds his peace, Jonno loved Dany so much :(, Pregnant Daenerys Targaryen, The real bittersweet ending, fuck D&D
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 17:30:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TargaryenHeaven/pseuds/TargaryenHeaven
Summary: "He looks like a dream to her, like a creation in her mind and she's not sure if he's real, or she's dead already and her mind is granting her a permission to see his face for the last time."What if instead of losing everyone, everyone lost Daenerys?





	I Have Died Everyday Waiting For You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys. Here's something I wrote after reading the script of the last episode. 
> 
> How they depicted Jon's feelings for Daenerys honestly broke me. This is inspired by that line  
"He has no interest in avoiding death; he has nothing left to live for."
> 
> I believe George gave D&D the general outline of the story, but I am a fan of the theory that says Daenerys will die sacrificing herself and her crown for the greater good. I mean, I'm not a fan of her dying, obviously, it's just that if it happens, I hope it's not as misogynistic as D&D managed to make it. 
> 
> Just some info about the backstory: The events in this fic are flipped. The last war was against the Night King.

His black coat is nothing but a barrier between the warmth of his body and the cold, frozen ground beneath his bottom.  
  
The sun is shining in his face and the untouched layers of snow sparkle under the light. He finds consolation in the sound of the water rushing from the cliffs. It's a memory. A perfect memory he knows he will never forget.  
  
He closes his eyes and just... listens. The sounds of nature. The sound of her voice, as if she's right there with him. He remembers her face, how it lit up when she saw the waterfall for the first time. Was it her first, he wonders? Are there any waterfalls in Essos?  
  
She'd told him they could stay a thousand years, and time stood still then. And now he hates it, because ever since she left him, it seems to be passing slower than ever.  
  
His mind wanders around Westeros, but his body he cannot move. He fears if he leaves their spot, he will no longer hear her voice and reality will once again slap him in the face like a cold wind of winter.  
  
He hears the sound of footsteps in the snow and he's angry suddenly, no one has the right to destroy his idyllic kingdom, no one. This is my realm, he thinks, I'm keeping this realm safe for her.  
  
His name is being called, but it's a faint background sound he ignores, he thinks if he stops listening now he will never again hear the only voice that matters, and the thought shakes him to the core.

The old man expects nothing from him, not even a smile. He knows he doesn't want to see anyone. They all know, but they keep trying.  
  
"Jon," he calls softly. "Jon, look at me," he orders him again, and when they lock eyes, he sees the pain and sorrow building inside him. He's afraid to ask if he's alright, because he knows he isn't, and that question is only gonna bring him over the edge.  
  
"What do you want, Ser Davos," he asks, carelessly. "I was clear, wasn't I? I don't want to see anyone."  
  
"I know. That's precisely why I'm here. You can't hide forever, boy," the old man says, unwittingly roughening his voice. "You shouldn't be out here."  
  
"I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be," Jon argues.

Davos feels his pressure rising. He feels like he's looking at a prisoner sentenced to death who's hopelessly waiting for his life to be taken away. Jon was never just his king. He is a son, a son he loves dearly, like he raised him himself.  
  
"Listen to me, you stubborn northern fool," he growls, grabbing him by the fur of his outer layer of clothing and forcing him to his feet. "She's not coming back. Not today, or tomorrow. She's dead. She's dead and gone. You have to let her go, you _have_ to."  
  
Jon fights back his tears. "We killed her, Davos. All of us. We didn't put a sword through her chest, but we allowed it to happen. There's so much I wanted to tell her and she died thinking I hated her... She should have stayed in King's Landing. But she wanted to come. 'A queen must risk her life for her people' she said," Jon smiles at the irony. It's not a genuine smile. It's a twitch his face makes, protecting whatever was left of his nerves from being touched the wrong way. "She wanted to help, but all we did was make her feel like she's not worthy of the crown. Where do I go from here? What is left for me to do?"  
  
"You live. Do you hear me? You live for her. You don't want the crown, fine. You don't want to be king, that's alright. But don't let her legacy be forgotten. The memory of her lives with you. You knew her better than those fools she called advisers. So come to King's Landing with us. She wanted to build a new world, you said it yourself, it's up to you now to create that world. You're an honorable man Jon Snow, so do your duty."

"My duty," Jon sneers. "Love was my duty, Ser Davos. I was tired of choosing. So they became one. And I failed. I failed her."

Davos knows the pain. "No," he smiles, lowering his gruff voice. "She knew you loved her, trust me on that. Anyone with eyes could see it. When you fought against those fuckers, it was her you were thinking bout. Going back to her. You killed their King because the woman you loved was in danger."  
  
"I loved a woman once and I thought I would never love another after her death. Maybe I am a fool. If that was love, I don't know what it was I felt for Daene-" Jon's voice cracks before he can utter her name. "I felt like she was a part of me, the reason why I'm living. When Bran told me the truth about my parents, I tried to push her away. I thought it was wrong, loving her... It wasn't. It was the best thing that I've ever done."  
  
"That's your strength. Loving her. If there are any gods, they know I wanted to see you two wedded. I didn't know her like the rest of you, but she was one of the good ones. So listen to me. Come with us to King's Landing. You don't want to rule, but someone has to. You have a fortnight to decide. I have nothing more to say to you until then."  
  
"You've said enough."  
  
Ser Davos turns his back on Jon. His heart aches, but talking to a man who spends his days alone, sitting outside in the snow seems like a thing only a fool would do. He hopes his words wake the man Jon hid inside. Not for the sake of the kingdom, or the people.  
  
For himself.

* * *

The walls of the small living are are plain, lifeless. The flame inside the hearth burns with barely enough energy to keep the room warm. The windows are fogged, with only a few droplets of water trickling down. In the corner is a bed, with straws and wool sticking out from the sheets and feathers peering from the carefully crafted pillow.  
  
At the table in front of the hearth, traces of snow still linger on the fur of the cloak Jon has spread in front of him.  
  
_We could stay a thousand years. No one would find us._  
  
The words sounded so innocent back then, a thousand years with the woman he'd lay down his life for. We'd be pretty old, he remembers saying, and sorrow rushes through his body like the very waterfall he can see from the clouded window.  
  
He will stay here a thousand years.  
  
Without her.  
  
Jon abandons his cloak, leaving it to the mercy of the unsteady warmness. He thinks if he goes to sleep when the sun is still high in the sky, he will wake up with the next sunrise and repeat that cycle of meaningless life he cannot seem to escape from.  
  
And why not, he wonders.  
  
It's been working for over four months.  
  
The Long Night came and went like the sea's tide. Fire defeated ice. Was it worth it, he finds himself wondering. What was the cost? Even when he wins, he loses, and it begins to feel like a really bad joke.

He eyes the black chest, with the Targaryen sigil on the front, painted black. It's right next to the poorly crafted bed he intends to occupy. He never opened it. The box holds monsters inside, he's sure of it. If he opens it, they're gonna come for him.  
  
When Missandei gave it to him, her eyes were full of tears he knew she was holding back. She learned much about him from Dany's stories. If only she knew he was holding back his own tears that day.

_"Have this," she tells him in her sweetest voice, looking at the chest carefully placed on the ground next to her feet. It doesn't look heavy or big for that matter, but the sigil nearly makes his heart stop. It's the sigil that gave him life, the sigil he saw on the banners in the throne room of their ancestral home, the sigil of the flagship where he held her hand for the first time, the sigil that stood proudly on the door of her cabin, the sigil she was eager and proud to show Westeros after her father had defiled it._  
  
_"Her clothes... We will give them away. She'd want that. The Unsullied will take half of her gold back to Essos. The other half we're leaving to you. Do the right thing, Jon."_  
  
_Jon, he thinks. Not a bastard. Not a lord. Not a king. Jon Snow. The man Daenerys Targaryen fell in love with._  
  
_Missandei saying his name without any titles is her way of telling him that she understands his pain and grief. They didn't only know the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, they both knew the young woman full of hope underneath the mask she had to wear to survive._  
  
_"I can't," he murmurs. "Whatever it is, I can't."_  
  
_"Take it," Missandei advises. "I was told you're leaving Winterfell. I don't know you well, but I knew her. When the time comes, we're all going to be there, in King's Landing. Then we part ways. There's nothing left for us in this country."_  
  
_"Missandei-"_  
  
_"Please."_  
  
_"Alright. I will."_  
  
_"Thank you."_  
  
_With her fingers intertwine under her belly, Missandei bids him goodbye._  
  
_"Missandei," he calls her, stopping her from taking another step. "Did you know? About the... About the child?"_  
  
_"I did."_

He doesn't want to see what's inside. He doesn't and he can't.  
  
But he has to.  
  
The chest creaks when he lifts the upper half. He expects papers, something meaningless so he can forget about it and set it on fire and continue to mourn her in peace. But fate laughs at him once again. It's almost like it wants to torment him.  
  
Instead of something he can throw and forget, the first thing he sees is a small, silver hair pin and for the first time since he lost her, a warm smile appears on his weary face. Gently, he picks it up, his fingers tracing along the defined dragon head.  
  
It comes to him, then.

_"Of course the queen of dragons would have a dragon hair pin," he whispers, massaging her wet, oiled shoulders._  
  
_Daenerys chuckles at his comment. "It's the mother of dragons, love. Or the dragon queen. I don't need any more titles." _  
  
_"Whatever it is, it suits you," he closes his eyes, leaning closer to her and inhaling her scent. "Mmm, you smell like flowers," he smiles, kissing the crown of her head. "Even now, your hair smells wonderful."_  
  
_"Even now?" She mocks him. "I washed it already before you came. I put oils, can't you see?" Daenerys points to her oiled curls, held by the dragon pin._  
  
_Jon sits on the edge of the tub so he's no longer behind her. He takes a deep breath when he sees her breasts above the water, glistening under the candle light._  
  
_Perhaps he only thinks he's no longer staring, because Daenerys is staring back at him with lust-filled eyes, the look she has right before the dragon within her comes out to play._  
  
_"Like what you see?"_  
  
_"Look at you... You're perfect."_  
  
_"You're only saying that because you want me to let you bathe with me." Daenerys teases._  
  
_"Did it work?"_  
  
_The storm that hit White Harbor suddenly seems like a blessing. Daenerys and storms, Jon thinks. They go hand in hand._  
  
_"Take off your clothes, Jon Snow. And we'll see."_

Flowers, he remembers. She smelled like flowers, always, even when dirt was messing up the ivory shade of her skin.  
  
The hair pin is meticulously placed on the bed, next to his thigh. Even something so small and trivial can become a prized possession, and now he will hold onto it like it's worth a fortune.  
  
The red silken material on which the pin was placed is soft underneath his fingertips, with black embroidery on the right side. A three headed dragon above her breast, Jon recalls.  
  
Her scent lingers on the material, flowers and spices and her, that specific scent he couldn't get enough of. It's like poison.

_"Tell me a story, Daenerys," he whispers while gently stroking her back. "Tell me your dreams."_

_She listens to his heartbeat while the ship is gently swaying in sync with the wind, and waves are crashing against the wooden hull._

_"I'm afraid if I tell you, they're never gonna come true," Daenerys smiles, tracing her finger over the protruding, red line over his heat. He's not sure if it's misery speaking._

_"Surely there is something you want, but you cannot have?" Jon closes his eyes, savoring this perfect little moment of intimacy._

_"That's not a dream," she kisses his chest. "That's a wish."_

_He wraps both of his arms around her. He pulls her on top of him so she's straddling him, and her cheek rests on his muscular chest. In a fortnight they'll be at White Harbor, and the walls they built around their little realm are gonna come crumbling down._  
  
_"Dany," he whispers softly. A faint moan is all she gives him. "I love you."_  
  
_"What?" Daenerys seeks his gaze, both palms flat on either side of his head._  
  
_"I love you," he repeats with a lump in his throat, hoping with all his heart he didn't somehow offend her._  
  
_"Jon Snow, you're a proper lover, you know that?" Daenerys kisses his cheek. "I was waiting for you to say the words," she whispers in his ear before nibbling on his earlobe, sending small waves of pleasure to his most sensitive body parts. "I'm quite fond of you as well," she murmurs close to his mouth, so close they're sharing the same breath, before sucking on his lower lip._  
  
_Her head is on his chest again, on that same spot above his heart. It's her spot now._  
  
_In the comfortable silence of their bed, she's not sure if it's her Hand telling the same old joke again, but she's almost certain she can hear the crew laughing._  
  
_"I do have a wish," her face lights up and she's above him once again._  
  
_"Oh?" Jon raises his full eyebrow._  
  
_"I wish... I wish I could go back to my childhood home," she begins, with a hint of sadness in her voice. "I don't remember it very well, I don't remember where it was. But I do remember the red door, and... lemon trees. And I know I was happy there. I can't explain it. But I was... I know I will never find that house again. But when this is all over, I want you to stay with me. I want to be selfish, and keep you all to myself so I can watch you smile and hear you moan every day and night," she watches him as he's patiently waiting for her to finish."I want you to build us a house, Jon Snow. Far away from King's Landing. So we can escape there when we get tired of doing our duty."_  
  
_Daenerys places a small open mouthed kiss on his neck, drawing a low moan from him._  
  
_"And do what?"_  
  
_"Fuck," she blurts out, kissing the scar above his heart._  
  
_"All day and night," a kiss on his sternum._  
  
_"Until I ache and can't ride my horse," she wraps her mouth around his nipple, licking the tiny peak with the tip of her tongue._  
  
_"Red door and lemons," Jon manages to utter. "For a queen, you're not very demanding." _  
  
_"Because with you I feel like I can be myself," she straightens her spine. His eyes follow her subtle movements, she's opening her silken robe inch by inch, offering herself and teasing him until she's naked as her nameday, and the robe is tossed on the floor._

Lemons, Jon thinks. He wishes he could plant a thousand trees and honor her. But nature has an unique temper, and grants no wishes.  
  
He begins to understand what it means to carry the memory of someone. She's not there with him, but her things are a constant reminder of her existence. A proof that she was there, walking among the people, saving them, helping them.  
  
If something as simple as lemon can bring back so many memories, then she truly will always be with him.  
  
She wore dresses made of finest silks and laces from Essos, and the dress he finds in the chest looks like it's been carefully tailored for her. He recognizes it. He can almost see her in front of him, laughing and swirling around the tent like a young princess, innocent and jaunty, protected from all the ugliness of the world.  
  
He doesn't even realize that he's smiling, too.

_"You're not serious," Jon laughs, watching her from the bed as she's swirling around from one side of the tent to another, holding the rumpled lace of her black gown in her hands. "Take it off. You'll freeze."_  
  
_"Surely spring is warmer than winter, love. Don't you think?"_  
  
_"It is, Dany. But winter has only just begun. You'll catch a cold."_  
  
_"Mmm, is that why you're worried?" Daenerys asks slyly, raising her eyebrow. "Here I thought you were jealous."_  
  
_"Jealous?" Jon taunts her. "Jealous of what?"_  
  
_"Jealous because the noble lords will get to see the queen's chest," Dany smirks. "Stare at her..." she approaches him. "Lust after her..." she wraps her hands around his neck, kissing his cheek._  
  
_Jon wraps his hands around her waist all while staring into her pretty blue eyes. He can even see the gold in them under the light. "Oh, no, no. I think you got it all wrong, love. I want them to see you. All of you. They can stare, they can lust after you, and they can seethe. Because you're mine. Only I get to see what you're hiding underneath."_  
  
_"Oh, they will all see me," she pulls away, grinning. "Red and black are the colors of my house. Missandei did the needlework," she opens her arms, offering Jon a better view of the embroidered dragons spread across her chest. "And she added these," she points to the shoulder pads covered with small scales, resemling those that protect her children's bodies. Now that Jon pays more attention to them, he notices they're cream, green and red. "For Drogon, Rhaegal and... and Viserion. I was thinking... maybe I could wear it on my... on my coronation day."_  
  
_She's blushing, and for some reason Jon feels the urge to pepper he face with kisses. "They will all come to see you for what you are, Dany. And I'm gonna be there, watching you. If you'll have me."_  
  
_"Only if you promise me you'll stand right beside me."_

"Oh, Dany," Jon finally speaks. He's not sure to whom he's speaking, but it feels good to just... say something. To let his feelings get the best of him. He makes a tight clutch at the dress she never got to wear again, and eyes the crown she never got to put on top of her silver curls. It lays abandoned on the bottom of the chest, the very last of the items Missandei carefully packed. It must have been handled with care, because that's what Missandei does. She cares.  
  
The crown is obsidian black. Three dragon heads are protruding from the flat surface, six small, red gems are their eyes. Jon remembers vividly the first time he saw it, placed on top of the red cushion in a room guarded by three Unsullied.  
  
He thought it was the most beautiful crown he'd ever seen, fit for the most beautiful woman in the world. Then he laughed at the absurdity of his statement. He had never actually seen a crown before.  
  
And now he hates it. It disgusts him. It was the beginning of their downfall.

_"Say something. Open your mouth, speak," Daenerys shouts. The crown she couldn't wait to wear lands on the ground in her moment of rage._  
  
_"I don't know what to say to you," Jon snarls._  
  
_"You know what? That's fine. Don't say anything," she says, lowering her voice. "Go through that door. Walk away. We can forget everything that happened between us. Your family will be happy to hear that, and the lords will once again cheer for their King. Walk away now, Jon, so you don't have to pretend you're not disgusted by me."_  
  
_"I'm not... I'm not disgusted by you. But you're- you're my aunt, Dany, I need time, I need to speak to someone who can tell me more about my parents. I can't find the right words."_  
  
_"Yes and you spend some quality time fucking your aunt. Forgive me, but I'm tired of you repeating the same thing over and over again. I came to you. Twice. You rejected me. Twice. When you're ready to talk about it, I'll listen. I will keep my promise to you, so don't worry about that. My armies will defend your home, but I want you to know that walking through the Red Waste was more pleasant than sitting in the Great Hall of Winterfell."_  
  
_"You owe us nothing, Dany. Order your army to march back to King's Landing if you want to. There's still time."_  
  
_"I don't want to," she objects. "As far as I know the North is a part of the Seven Kingdoms, and I am their queen. But I will not wear the crown until my people are safe. I saw the Night King, and his army. He's coming for all of us. A queen must risk her life for her people. I gave you my word, I intend to keep it."_  
  
_"Don't go. You can't. You say the dragons are your children, command them to fight for the living and stay in King's Landing."_  
  
_"No."_

_"Daenerys," Jon tries to hold her hand, but she's pulling away from him. Two more steps and they're on the opposite sides of the room.  
  
"Drogon and Rhaegal are coming with me. With a healthy horse, you'll get to Winterfell in a month. I'll get there before you, so I suggest you leave now. If your gods are good, we will meet again. Hopefully you'll find more words to say after we win the war."  
  
"Alright," he murmurs. His heart is aching, but arguing is leading nowhere at this point. "What is it that you wanted to tell me?" Jon asks her.  
  
Daenerys is holding back tears, Jon can tell. He knows the moment he leaves the room, she is going to break down, and so will he.  
  
"It doesn't matter now," she tells him.  
  
I love you, he thinks.  
  
Silence.  
  
You mean everything to me.  
  
Silence.  
  
I'd die for you.  
  
Silence.  
  
I want to marry you.  
  
Silence.  
  
No words come out. And so he leaves._

The room is uncomfortably cold by the time Jon gently places the crown on the bed.  
  
Is this really all that's left?  
  
No. There is one thing he has been carrying with him since he lost her.  
  
His hand reaches for his trousers, and a pocket sewn on his right side. The three headed dragon that held her cape together looks so different now. It's a precious possession, and his fingers hold onto the figurine like it's made of glass, and not pure silver, fit for a queen like her. It's a cruel reminder of his nature, of his blood, and the words they left unspoken.  
  
Maybe loving her was wrong after all. Maybe if he never knocked on her door that night, things would've been different, she would've been just another monarch who kept the iron throne warm. Maybe his heart wouldn't be threatening to jump out of his chest and clench at every memory of her if he never fell in love so deeply.  
  
Maybe.

But it doesn't matter now. She's gone, and words keep flooding his mind like they're trying to drown him. Even when he wipes off his tears, more follow, so he gives up, and weeps like she wept when she realized that death had come to claim her. 

_When Drogon was forced to land near the Godswood, she ordered him to take off and save himself. Her son refused, until she shouted harsh words at him, and he spread his wings and disappeared in the clouds, crying like a small child._

_  
Ser Jorah found her and forced her to hold an obsidian sword, too big for her small hands. He took her to Godswood, thinking it would be safe.  
  
It wasn't._

_Theon feels the dead lurking in the shadows, and before Dany can turn she is pushed aside. When she realizes they're surrounded, her shaky, half-frozen hand covers the underside of her belly and she feels like a little, helpless girl and she's not Queen Daenerys anymore, she is just Dany, weeping for the things she will never have. _

_She weeps for her unborn child who will never live.  
  
She weeps for Missandei whose hand she will never hold again.  
  
She weeps for her dragons, her sweet sons who will live without a mother.  
  
She weeps for Jon, the love of her life and the father of her child. _

_Jon sees her weeping, but she only sees death in front of her. His army of the dead growls louder, waiting to devour their flesh and every time one of them is killed, two more living souls leave and join the realm of ice. It's not her he wants, she knows that, but she will be dead, and her child will be dead, and Jon, and Missandei and Ser Jorah and Grey Worm and Qhono. Everyone. _

_He prays to the old gods and the new that Rhaegal hears his silent plea. He begs him to come and rain fire, if his Targaryen blood means anything in the war for all living souls, he hopes this is it.  
_ _  
Now or never, Jon thinks, his whole body filled with fear but he's on his feet, and before he can take the first step, Rhaegal is emerging from the darkness, wings spread wide as he's spewing fire around them._

_Jon wastes no time, he knows fire will not harm the strongest ones, before the flames go out and the Night King's generals can kill him, it's only the two of them, King against King, this is his chance, this is his purpose, this is why he was brought back from the dead. To send them all into an eternal slumber. _

_"Dany," Jon yells as he swings Longclaw, and before the Night King can turn, the cold Valyrian steel on his neck brings him to his knees, and he shatters before their eyes into a thousand little pieces. _

_Body after body and the army of the dead is no more.  
_

_It's over. The war is won. The woman he loves is safe. He watches as the White Walkers are perishing into the darkness but when he turns to her, to finally hold her in her arms and tell her that she was in his thoughts the whole time, the sight nearly knocks the breath out of him.  
  
The white coat is more soaked with each passing moment, blood is spilling from the wound on her chest like water. She is brought to her knees, her eyebrows nearly touch when she realizes that one of them got to her before whatever curse that kept them moving was broken.  
  
Before Jon can catch her, she's already on the ground and Ser Jorah next to her, holding her head like she is a small babe, and not a grown woman ready to rule a kingdom. Jon straddles her right leg and with the strength he didn't think he had, presses the wound, desperately trying to keep the blood from flowing out._

_"Jon," she whispers, blood spilling from her nose and mouth, coating her chapped lips. Jon wipes it off, smearing it across her cold, reddened cheeks. He looks like a dream to her, like a creation in her mind and she's not sure if he's real, or she's dead already and her mind is granting her a permission to see his face for the last time.  
  
"No, love," he sobs above her. "Please, no, stay with me." He's not sure why he's begging, but he does._

_"Dany, no, love, please..."  
  
She opens her mouth, but no words come out. Only more blood, and more tears._

_Her small hand takes his, and before her last breath leaves her body, she places their intertwined fingers on the swell of belly.  
  
He feels it then, for the first time. It becomes clear to him what she wanted to tell him before he walked out of the room._

_"No," Jon's eyes widen in terror. "No..." He's shaking his head, pushing the thought of it away. When he jerks her coat open, the lump in his throat grows bigger and becomes too hard to swallow. He lets out a choked cry, resting his forehead against her rigid midriff. _

_He can hear his name being called, but it seems like it's miles away. A hand rests on his shoulder, his sister offering him solace, but he doesn't want it, he doesn't want to let go of her cold body.  
  
Jon pulls her closer against his chest, peppering her forehead with small kisses, begging her to come back as if she can hear him, but she's gone.  
  
Daenerys Targaryen is dead._

_"I love you, I love you so much," he sings softly, wetting her face with his own tears. "I love you."  
  
Ser Jorah looks up at the clear sky, even the stars are dancing and the moon is shining again. It's gone before anyone can admire it, Drogon casts a shadow and a loud cry echoes throughout the ruins of Winterfell._

_When he lands on the pile of corpses, the ground shakes beneath him and the trees are on fire before anyone can blink. His fire is burning red, almost black. Rhaegal lands next to him, joining his brother in mourning, and the two brothers crawl to their mother's dead body.  
  
The weirwood tree is no longer a tree but a mess of branches and red leaves on the ground. Theon and Ser Jorah pull back, leaving Jon to the wrath of two fiery beasts. They call for him, but he doesn't hear them, he only hears his heartbeat.  
  
Rhaegal whimpers, resting his head on the ground. Drogon sniffs her dead body, nudging her hopelessly. They're no longer dragons, they're sons she birthed, held at her own breast, raised and disciplined and loved endlessly.  
  
For a moment, Jon thinks the two are about to combust and he's ready. This time, he's ready to die. There's nothing left to live for.  
  
But he's not to blame. Drogon knows that. Rhaegal knows. Drogon pushes Jon away with his jaw, away from his mother. She's no longer his to love, or protect. He gently picks her up with his claws, holding her like prey. Rhaegal offers himself to Jon, like he wants him to come wherever her sons are taking her, but when Drogon's tail finds its way to his face, Rhaegal weeps and takes off, leaving Jon on his knees with blood on his hands and face.  
  
When he looks over his shoulder, he can see them all. Theon, Ser Jorah, Grey Worm, Qhono, Arya, Sam, Brienne, Gendry, Tormund...  
  
Jon takes one last look at the pool of blood she left behind. Under the light of dragonfire, the three-headed silver dragon shines, begging to be picked up._

It's fate's way of punishing him. He doesn't know for what, but he knows that living like this, with a hole in his heart, must be a punishment for something.

But he also knows that he was wrong. His life does have a purpose.  
  
King's Landing will bring back more memories, but this time he'll be ready. He will cherish each and every single one of them, and he will smile.  
  
Daenerys Targaryen, the powerful dragon queen, loved him. And he loved her.  
  
And he put a babe inside her.  
  
The babe, he recalls. She was pregnant. The witch lied. Jon smiles at that. He was right.  
  
What was it? A son with black hair and curls and her blue eyes? A daughter with silver hair and his brown eyes?  
  
"Ah, Dany. You really are special," Jon says out loud. He feels her within him. As long as he breathes, she will be in his heart. Safe and sound.  
  
The memory of her wont't be the end of him. Quite the opposite. The memory of her is keeping him alive.  
  
Jon takes his cloak and makes his way outside. The waterfall looks as beautiful as ever. It's always gonna be there. When he comes back from King's Landing, the crystal clear water is still gonna be falling from the cliffs.  
  
But the red door of the house he built is gonna be the first thing he sees.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, any form of feedback is always welcome. :)
> 
> If any of you read my other fic, Father, Let Me Tell You a Story, I thank you for the feedback and your kind comments. However, I don't think I can make that story multichapter. Dark! Dany was fun to write and I would love to include Daeron in the story as well, but Daenerys burning innocent people and Jon killing her just doesn't click with me. I think I'll stick to my babies being happy and somewhat "dark" together.


End file.
